A Man and His Wiener

So I’m a man…and I’ve lived with my wiener for 34 years and over that time I feel comfortable in saying I’ve gotten to know it pretty well. I can’t say I’ve ever laid in a field, smoking a pipe, with a serious look on my face and reflected on my life together with the little fella. But when you have a son…you’re sort of forced into trotting down memory lane.

Many a morning I’ll be shaving as the boy walks in the bathroom in his little skibbies to take a wiz. The pants drop and there’s his little pecker standing tall and proud unleashing a child-sized stream of pee all over the toilet, floor, walls…. Ahhh morning wood at its best.

Woodies are just a fact of life as a kid – well, shit…actually throughout life. It happens, you don’t know why, and it doesn’t even enter your brain to care as a kid.

I remember when I was little and on the swim team, I was called “boner” by some of the older kids. I was all, “Hell yeah they like me. I’ve got a nickname and shit!!” Then I realized they always laughed after they called me Boner.

“Hey mom….what’s a boner?” Oh I remember asking that question to my mom like it was yesterday…..

Pubic hair was something I wanted desperately as a kid. I spent days praying at night that I would wake up in the morning with a virtual afro of pubic hair shrouding my man-wand, thus completing my journey into becoming Magnum PI (I always assumed he had a virtual forest down there cause…well cause it was Magnum P-fucking-I).

Over the summer I was taking a shower and heard the boy come in to pee. He finished, but I never heard him flush. As I opened the curtain to yell for him to come back and flush his stuff, I noticed he was still there, naked, looking down at his little pecker and pulling on a tiny little hair on his coin purse. “I didn’t know that,” he whispered.

Being the asshole that I am, I couldn’t resist scaring and embarrassing the shit out of him by saying, “Whatcha got goin’ on there sailor?”

“Daddy!!!!” he screamed as he ran off.

Then comes the touching. The constant rubbing of the package, I guess to make sure it’s still there. I remember after soccer games on the way home, my mom saying, “honey, you really need to try and stop touching it. Seriously…it’s not going anywhere and you’re embarrassing yourself.”

The boy is going through an introductory stage of that now….unlucky bastard.

But the part I’m not looking forward to….the masturbation. I remember giving it a try a couple of times and after a few minutes giving up cause nothing happened. But then the gift of having an older brother reared its head and the glorious day finally arrived where he one day said,

“You’re a fucking idiot. You have to use lotion moron.”

It was like the clouds broke, a rainbow came out, birds chirped a bit louder and crisper, and I was alive!!! For the next few years, I could not put my dick down. I was a man on a mission….and I can only imagine how many times my parents had wished they could shroud themselves in plastic when walking in my bedroom, or worse, my bathroom.

A man’s wiener is like an imaginary friend you have your whole life. It knows all your secrets, it grows with you, changes as you change, listens when you need a friend, reacts to all your emotions, talks you into things you probably shouldn’t do, and is by your side through thick and thin. High fives to my tiny little guy….thanks for being there bud.

Oh…and don’t forget, we’ve got our first therapy session at 5 p.m. today to deal with your separation anxiety from the wifey’s whoo-ha!

I'm A Little Uncomfortable With This!

I was totally thrown out of my element on Friday. Wifey had booked-up my morning by volunteering me to work both my son’s and my daughter’s Halloween classroom parties. Luckily the schools are across the street from each other…unluckily Mother Nature was on the rag that day and decided to unleash a deluge of water all morning long. It was kind of her way of saying – “here…take this you gap-toothed idiot. Yeah…how would you like to be in charge of all weather all the time and get blamed for deaths, and ruining Timmy’s birthday party, or Suzie’s wedding which will ultimately end up in a divorce cause she got caught with her sister’s husband and goat on his birthday….” That woman seriously needs therapy.

So I get to the boy’s classroom and there’s about 28 seven-year-olds sitting around dressed up as race car drivers, princesses, a lion, White Sox player, a Bears player, and…well, I don’t know what the hell this one kid was, but I’m pretty sure I saw him in a porno once.

I’m all, “Hey – I’m Grayson’s dad. My wife volunteered me to help with the party”

“Hi Grayson’s daddy! Everyone – this is Grayson’s daddy. Say hello!”

It took me a second to realize I should quickly switch into “Grayson’s daddy” mode where everyone talks to everyone else like their 7 years old. So I quickly imagined all my conversations being in 1^st grade teacher lingo…

“Hey sweet wifey…how was your day pretty little girl.”

“Uhh..fine?!”

“Awesome, give me high fives!! Hey, you wanna juice box and a snack?”

“Fuck you…give me a beer and walk away from me.”

“Uh oh…does someone need a tickle? I think so!!! Someone needs their frown turned upside down!!!”

“Touch me and I’ll cut you!”

Now that I was in the mindset – in comes the ringleader…the classroom volunteer head-mother-in-charge. Dressed in a girl-scout outfit, just to prove she was “in the spirit,” she proceeded to gather her tiny gaggle of parents together to begin informing us of our tasks.

Girl Scout Mom delegated tasks like a fucking general. And when she got to me, “and you…you get the game activity. I brought a small pumpkin. Take it – figure it out. Your station’s over there.”

Now, I’ve led a pretty successful career so far and I’ve prided myself on needing little to no supervision or management. I’m a freakin’ strategy creating and implementing machine. But I was literally stumped. If a tree were placed immediately in front of me just then, I would have spent the next hour walking into it repeatedly while pissing myself.

So the little bastards are split up in four groups of approximately 6 kids each. The first group I get is staring at me. I’m killing time by having them explain what characters they’re dressed as while I fake nod like I’m listening (the wifey knows this nod well) but all the while I’m going through my childhood memories trying to remember a cool game we can play with this damn pumpkin.

Then little Franky says, “are well gonna play hot potato with that pumpkin?”

I was so damn relieved I caught myself just as I was about to scream, “fuck yeah we are!” and high five the little bastard through a wall.

So each group of approximately 6 kids came to my station for a total of 12-minutes each. And during that time, one kid looked at me like I was an idiot cause I didn’t know what Star Wars character he was, another kid clearly has no father at home and insisted on sitting in my lap and rubbing my back making me the most uncomfortable I’ve been since the time I watched Michael Jackson with that kid when….well pretty much anytime he was with a kid….., another girl thought it was the funniest thing in the world to stomp my damn foot, and the most memorable little bastard was the one who thought it was hilarious to cough in my face!

When it was over I returned the bruised and beaten small pumpkin to Girl Scout Mom…thanked her for her leadership…slipped my phone number in her purse….and ran into the pouring rain to the daughter’s classroom party so I could do it all over again.

In the end, I did survive…the kids did have fun…and I did get acknowledgement from the wife that at some point in the very distant future, I would be rewarded with sex for my deeds.

Girly Girl is Taking Over My Life

My daughter's birthday is Saturday and it's she reminds me of me as a kid….couldn’t sleep, dreams of new Transformers running through my head. Maybe a new Atari game or…OR!!! a new bike?!!! Then the day came and I got a soccer ball and three pairs of homemade Jams shorts where the front was so poofy it looked like I had a BIF (butt in front).

Every day the daughter’s all "is my birthday tomorrow?"

"Not yet baby...2 more days, then you'll be...."

And her face lights up and she holds up her fingers as she says, "fiiiivve!!!!"

Then I usually give her a quick tickle, smack on the butt, and rub her head.

The wifey is planning a total girly girl party for her. The playroom is decked out for a tea party, complete with dresses, hats, a table for the little ladies to pop-a-squat in pure princess decadence, and a blackboard that says "Macy's tea party."

So yesterday I had the day from hell and I'm walking to the train in a virtual sea of business men and women on their way to Union Station. I call the wifey to tell her what train I'm on and she tells me about her decorations for the party:

"I'm just gonna let them pieeck what dress they wanna waaar and let them juss have fun. But I need yuuu to be the phoootograaapher," she says. (Keep in mind the wifey has a very southern accent)

"Honey, they'll run ramped. You need activities."

"Jesus...don't complicate this…aaaahhhriiight?!"

I remain calm, "Shnookums, they're fucking 5...they need activities."

"Hoooney Buuunches…if you wanna play all Mr. Fucking Rogers than have at it!"

"I got your Mr….” and then I had an idea! A real idea! “I know, get beads and string…let them make necklaces. Then let them pick a dress to try on. Maybe get some little cheapy clips and a mirror or two and let them do their hair all up. Then we can put some good music on and let them do like a fashion show and we'll give them all little prizes and stuff"

Silence.....then..."That's a pretty good idea."

Now those words are never...I mean NEVER uttered to me by my loving wife. My chest puffs all out, I'm proud, and my first instinct is to look around like "did you hear that?! Huh?! I'm the shit!!! Did you hear it?!!"

But as I look around I quickly realize, all the business folk, suit-clad money-makin', business folk had looks of complete and total "what the fuck is wrong with this dude?" looks on their faces.

I hunkered back down into my little world and said, “Thanks…I thunk it all up myself.”

It’s definitely getting girly at our house. The wifey rocked out one killer tea party room. Dresses are hanging everywhere. There’s fucking pink all over the damn house….but I love it. I’m soaking it in. Cause pretty soon…there’s gonna be blood all over the front lawn, from the douches that try to roll up to my front door asking the daughter out on a date. Oh..and it won’t be me causing the blood. It’ll be the big brother, and all his kick-ass, over-protective friends. I’ll be behind them, holding the camera…all giddy for new material to throw on my blog…..

 

Q & A With "Why Is Daddy Crying" II

After the first Q&A I was shocked that is was not only my most popular post, but that I was asked by so many to unload more of my stupidness on to provocative questions asked by my Twitter followers and friends. So...here goes round two. Damn I have the best Twitter dudes and dudettes ever.....

@optimom Notty Nana wants to know how you keep things "alive" in the Rumpus Room!!

I’m gonna assume you’re talking about my kid’s playroom? It’s kind of challenging to keep things alive in there cause…..oh….oh you mean….oh that’s embarrassing. Honestly? Well, I’ll admit it…I’m kind of into the role reversal thing. I’ll have the wifey come into the bedroom wearing a business suit and I’ll wear a Snuggie while knitting and watching Oxygen out of the corner of my eye. And she’ll be all: “Hey baby. I sure had one hell of a day. Whatya say we knock boots….you know, take the ole skin boat to tuna town?”

And I’ll be all: “Oooh, Fraaank. Don’t be silly, it’s not Friday and I’m just so tired from the children.”

And she’ll say, “Now damnit Fey, don’t put it on lockdown woman. I really need to let off some steam.”

“Well then take the Jergens and go ‘let off some steam’,” and I’ll throw the bottle at her.

And she’ll scream, “Damn you Fey…I’m goin’ out with the boys for beers then. To hell with ya.” And she’ll go stomping down the stairs and slam the door.

@crazysahm if you could be any person dead or alive for a day who would you be and why?

I’m gonna go with Caillou. I mean, that little shit amazes me. He’s got his own fucking TV show…and kids around the world idolize him…they’ll kill for him. Second he lives in a dream world where everything is a damn primary color the fads off into white. He’s protected from ever being murdered by the millions of parents that want him dead cause he’s a cartoon. His parents treat him like gold, he’s not a racist, he gets kick-ass meals, his mom’s not too bad looking, and if he wanted to he could get his douche dad kicked off the show cause after all…it’s called “Caillou,” so guess who’s calling the shots on that set?!

@mamabennie Who eats the cookies & drinks the milk (beer) while pretending to be Santa, you or the wifey? (My dad left beer for Santa)

That’s awfully damn brave of you to assume I celebrate Christmas. Jesus lady, in this day in age you should be just a bit more PC about your damn questions. I mean, I could…oh…oh you saw the Christmas video of my kids on my blog? My bad..just kiddin’! High fives?!!

@shelleblok Do you prefer redheads, blondes, or brunettes. You know for ring side girls? :)

Dear Shelle….my sex life is constantly hanging on the edge cause of all the stupid shit I say and do around the wifey. And here you come, tossing out one of the killer questions of all time. I can just see my wife out of the corner of my eye standing there, arms crossed, tapping her foot, and thinking “go ahead you gap-toothed fuck…answer the woman. Which is it asshole?”

Well I’m not falling for it. I’m not….it’s redheads. I can’t hide it. I’m a complete and total sucker for redheads.

@gratefulkim If you weren't working & raising nippers, what is your dream job?

Here we go….the question lady. This is the lady who drilled me with questions last Q&A. How the hell do you have friends? Do you notice everyone around you drinking mass quantities of alcohol all the time?

I’d kill to be novelist. I’d love to be a writer knockin’ out books or whatever brought in money, allowed me to write, and gave me enough time off to travel.

@gratefulkim How has BJ Brittany impacted your life thus far?

Jesus GratefulKim…what is it with you? Honestly. Come on..it’s just you and me right now. Take a seat….relax… Are you comfortable? Good….NOW TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!

BJ Brittany has taught me that you really can get a terrific image of a BJ if you just put the camera at the right angle. She taught me persistence and that you should never give up when hundreds and thousands of people push you away every hour of every day. BJ Brittany is the definition of inspiration.

@gratefulkim Right now I'm enjoying some oatmeal and egg whites? What is your "breakfast of champions?"

Did….uh….did I ask you what you were eating? I mean, I just re-read everything I wrote and I couldn’t find anything where I asked you a question….probably because I know if I asked you a question, you’d follow it up with 10 more. And how the hell do you eat egg whites with oatmeal? I feel I really need to spend some time understanding you.

I usually don’t eat breakfast…if I do it’s a banana. I used to steal cute little puppies out of children’s arms and eat them…but I’m a vegetarian now.

@gratefulkim What scares you?

YOU DO…you fucking scare me GreatfulKim. With the questions, and the why this and the why that..you scare me…. And Sarah Palin makes me shit myself every time I hear or see that alien woman. Great…I just lost 32 followers with that one….@gratefulkim being one of them….

@grnladybug Q: If you could be a superhero what would you be and why?

Phew…a different person asking questions. Seriously @grnladybug…did you see @gratefulkim go to work on me? I mean…I love her…she’s awesome…but fuck! I’m sorry…what did you ask? Oh…umm….I have no clue…which ever one has x-ray vision. And I think you know why……. Damn that was douchey….

@allconsoffun You mentioned the boy will someday "pretend to shit" in yesterday’s blog. How do you honestly think you'll handle that "shit talk?"

Umm…for those who didn’t read it…I mentioned how someday I’m sure I’ll be talking about how my son claims to be in the bathroom shitting when I know he’s really “salting the beef curtains.”

You know…I’m probably gonna play dumb like I don’t know what’s going on and just hope it doesn’t get out of hand. Pretty much the same way the wifey deals with the issue with me.

@mommieswhodrink 1) Who was the first girl you kissed? 2) What is your drink of choice? 3) Do you have any fetishes? 4) Do you have any friends on the train?

Are you….what happened to…oh…oh I see @gratefulkim standing over there. I thought she put on a costume and came back as you…

1) I have no idea who my first kiss was with. I just remember it was in 1^st grade – I leaned across the isle in the middle of class and kissed her. So hott….

2) Drink of choice…anything with alcohol…love gin in tonic, Newcastle’s a damn good beer, and I could shoot Jager all night long.

3) Any festishes? If you take the word “fetish” and mash it with the word “guy” you’ll see you always get a “yes.”

4) Friends on the train? You’re following me aren’t you? Seriously…you sit in my train car and notice I’m one of only a handful of people that don’t have “friends” on the train. I have a friend….you can’t see him but he’s there.

@musicsavvymom What is the airspeed velocity of the unladen swallow?

It’s really a simple question of weight ratios when considering the kinematic ratios in winged flight. Take for instance the Zebra Finch. That stupid fuck only eats tiny bits of seed because its so small and insignificant it can’t really handle anything much bigger. Therefore, when that stripped bitch takes flight…he’s bookin’. There for his airspeed velocity would be 15 meters per second.

Now…an unladen swallow by nature is of the “slut” side of the flying feathered family. You can tell by the way in which its beak tilts towards the sky, throat open, and its ability to swallow a variety of things. Given that, I would use the Strauhal equation. Based on that equation and a bit of math…I’d say 11 meters per second or 24 miles per hour…which isn’t bad for a swallower.

@drlori71 If you're watching TV drunk, which would you be most likely to buy: Snuggie, Touch n Brush, Bendaroos, or Big Top Cupcake?

I’d have to be in a coma to buy a fucking Snuggie. The Big Top Cupcake would be great if I was sooo drunk I needed something to puke in. The Bendaroos and Touch n Brush are interesting though….

The Touch n Brush I’d totally use to put lotion in. It’d be a quick way to just get a dab or two when you need it in a jiff. The only problem is the hole. Now I’m really tiny, but not that tiny. The Bendaroos could be kinky as hell in the bedroom though. Bondage….clamps….rings…..the list is long. I think given that I’d naturally be horny as hell while drunk and thinking irrationally about my wife being adventurous in bed…I’d go with the Bendaroos.

@mimiruse Would you rather be zipped into a Snuggie for a week, or take your kids to a public crapper every time they have to go for a week?

Nice…I’m gonna go with the public crapper…and since you didn’t specify which public crapper, I’m gonna go with the women’s public crapper for a week. I can’t wait!!!

@lesleehorner What's one thing you are passionate about, and lose all track of time while doing?

Well…you specified I couldn’t say tantric sex. So, I’d have to say ridding the world of chewed gum left in public places. I’ve been devoted to this cause for a number of years and have spent countless hours scrapping, documenting, and studying the evolutionary flow of gum as it moves carelessly from a chewers mouth, to the ground near a trashcan, to your shoe, to the elevator, and onto a janitor’s scraper. Provocative…I know.

@nuckingfutsmama If you got a "free pass" from your wife to use on a celebrity, which one would it be & why?

Well…there’s a lot of celebrities I’d like to grudge-fuck… I know…I’m sorry...that was crossing the line. I apologize…I’m just speaking from my heart kids…

I’m gonna have to say Jennifer Aniston. She’s a classic in my book. From the hair, to the face, to the eyes, to the breasts, back to the eyes, to the ass, to the breasts, to the legs, to the ass. She makes me wanna be a better man to my wife so that some day she gives me a free pass.

I’d take her to a nice restaurant, we’d laugh, she’d tell me about what a goofball Chandler was on the set, I’d tell her about the blog post where I wrote about the evolution of shit….then I’d open the door to my Chevrolet Lumina and wisk her off to the Palmer House Hilton where I’d have a bottle of champagne I bought at 7-11 waiting on ice in the bathtub. Then the moment would be right…we’d get closer…we’d touch hands and I’d be able to smell her and feel her presence. I’d feel her breath…and then our lips would slightly touch…then I’d need to be excused…..

After cleaning myself up I’d walk back in the room and she’d be laughing, but I’d know it was just another story about Chandler on the set of Friends she was really laughing about. Then she’d ask if we could just be friends…and I’d say “Friends…get it…Friends.” Then she’d slap me…call me a douchebag…grab the champagne and leave.  

Oh..and why would I chose her? Because she owns her sexiness in a classy, seductive as hell way…kinda like my 4^th grade teacher….but that’s a whole other story…

@kitterztoo If you could describe yourself as a color, which color would that be?

Casper white.

 

The Evolution of Shit

When my wife was prego she went through a variety of different poop cycles. Some days too much…some days too little. Then around the eighth month of pregnancy came the “what?! You poop while you push the kid out?!!” realization that ruled her mind until it came time. I was there…yes it’s true…you poop while you push. And yes…I had the easiest freakin’ job in the entire hospital wing…I stood, I sweated, I thanked whoever rules us above that it wasn’t me, I cried, I cut the cord.

Back to the poop.

Then there’s the baby poop – the black tar poop. Baby’s should be born with a damn ice scraper to get this crap off their skin. It’s a miracle it only lasts for a few days. But just when you think you’re out of the woods, comes the breast-fed poop. The light brown, seedy poop. It looks like the baby ran away from home, found some shady friends, hid under a freeway and freebased seeds and split pea soup for a week. Oh that stuff is fucking foul.

But then the poop’s taken up yet one more notch and that’s the cruelest part of the entire scenario. You’re sleep-deprived, dropping C-Notes on massive packages of diapers, taking stock out in wipes, and spending baby’s nap time praying that this is the worst of it. Then come the blow-outs. And it’s never convenient. It’s always when you’re driving to the grocery store, handing the baby to Aunt May, or a split second from the most precious picture the idiots at Picture People could have ever taken. That’s when you hear the sound of your sweet, innocent child’s colon unleashing a stream of seedy shit right through the diaper, up their back, out their arm sleeves, and filling every fat crevice they proudly own. The only positive – you just bought a shit-ton of stock in wipes.

Then comes the stage where it’s no longer poopy..it’s just plain shit. Turds to be exact. You pull the diaper off and they roll out. Sometimes they’re half smashed…most of the time they have you quickly grabbing to pull your shirt over your nose. But if they could talk..they’d say, “that’s right bitches…it’s time for potty training.”

So their shitting in the pot now…and it’s cool! Right?! No…no you’re not done yet sucker. Now comes the time where you still wipe their ass. Dropping mad cash on diapers is gone, but you’re still putting your hand right smack dab in the crack of their ass…..and it sucks. You teach them to wipe themselves..sometimes it works, sometimes you’re tossing a ton of Shout on their stank skidmarks. But you’re getting closer….

Then it happens. They shit in the toilet! They wipe themselves! They're even OK with shitting in public restrooms!!! And then…you move into a one bathroom house. Why?! Because other people’s shit is destined to be a significant part of your life FOREVER!!

So now, just when everyone elses shit is their own problem and I can't even enjoy my own - I get interrupted. Jumping around outside the door, knocking every two seconds “I gotta go daddy!!” And the newest…every time I start the shower for the boy, he’s about to step in, then he says, “I gotta poop daddy.” So I turn everything off and wait…and wait….and wait….

I guess in a few more years I’ll update this recap of the evolution of shit in my life. It'll ramble about the boy claiming to shit when I know he's really stroking one out. Or how my daughter obsessively text-messages when she claims to be dropping the kids off at the pool. But none the less…I have no doubt…shit will continue to rule my life.